


Life on the Vongola, as lived by Hayato Gokudera, in 20 parts

by oh_simone



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: BSG AU, Cylons, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_simone/pseuds/oh_simone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are orbiting the colony of Picon when it happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life on the Vongola, as lived by Hayato Gokudera, in 20 parts

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the first season of BSG, there aren't any huge spoilers for it, but some events do mirror those of the show.  
> For those who haven't watched BSG, well:  
> 1\. Humans live on 12 planets known as the 12 Colonies, named after constellations.  
> 2\. Humans created the Cylons, robots who evolved and rebelled. The first war ended in the Cylons leaving.  
> 3\. About fifty years later, they suddenly come back, having evolved to look like humans, and wipe out the human race. There are a total of seven models, and when one "dies", their consciousness automatically gets downloaded into a new body that physically is a clone of the previous. SO CREEPY/AWESOME.  
> 4\. The only survivors are people on ships with FTL hyperdrives, and they cobble together in a ragtag fleet to go find the mythical 13th colony Earth.

1.

The call came in just past noon; the Captain and First Mate were dead, killed in the initial explosions that had lost them their third cargo crate. In the bridge, third mate Gokudera found his eyes drawn along with everyone else’s to Second Mate Sawada, the diminutive medic. _Impossible_ , was his first thought, and he could tell the others were as shocked as he was. This fragile slip of a boy, who had gone the color of sour milk, swamped in an ill-fitted lab coat, was now captain of the small cargo freighter, the _Vongola_.

 _And me_ , Gokudera thinks with a jolt. _I’m first mate._ In a blurry daze, he swallows his panic, the building hysteria, and addresses Sawada sharply. Everyone’s gazes snap to him, but he refuses to reel.

“Captain, we’ve received instructions to rendezvous with the Battlestar _Galactica_ in Ragnar Anchorage.”

Tsuna stares at him frozen, and Gokudera is half afraid that the boy will crumple under pressure—or worse, _cry_. But just as Gokudera is about to give up and take command himself, Tsuna swallows dryly, and orders, very quietly, for Irie to fire up the FTL hyperdrive.

2.

“Chief, captain’s on the line.”

Gokudera stops, sighs, and shoves himself out from under the sparking console in the engine room. Spanner holds the receiver towards him, and Gokudera motions for them to switch places.

“Yes, sir?”

“Mr. Gokudera, can you come down to my office? There’s a rep from _Galactica_ here to see us.” Tsuna’s voice is polite and contains none of the backbone he keeps hidden under layers and layers of insecurities. Rubbing his forehead and unconsciously spreading wide the grease spot there, Gokudera replies an affirmative and heads out towards the captain’s quarters, taking the slightly cleaner jacket Gianni hands him as he leaves.

He’s first mate now on the ship—technically, dealing with engine malfunctions aren’t his jurisdiction anymore, but they’d lost nearly a third of their small crew in the initial Cylon attack, and Gokudera’s engineering team is struggling just to keep the _Vongola_ flying with the rest of the fleet.

First the continuous jumping, then the water shortages, then news that Cylons looked human now. Gokudera grimly buttons his jacket and wipes his hands down on his jeans. There ‘s no such thing as good news, _especially if_ Galactica _has decided to contact us in person_ , he thinks and knocks on Tsuna’s door before letting himself in.

“Gokudera, come in.” Tsuna smiles nervously, almost tripping as he walks around his desk to greet his first mate. Inside, Gokudera winces and sighs and wonders once again how the hell Captain Timoteo and First Mate Reborn picked this too-young, too-nervy child to be second mate.

“Captain,” he replies instead, glancing at the third figure in the room. The officer is tall and rangy in standard pilot gear, an easy-going smile on his face. His light brown eyes assess Gokudera briefly, and his grin grows slightly. Gokudera doesn’t know what it is about the pilot, except that he suddenly has to repress the urge to bristle and scowl.

“This is Lieutenant Takeshi Yamamoto from the _Galactica_. He’s here to talk to us about freighting tylium from the asteroid they found to the _Hitei Kan_ refinery. He’s also one of my oldest school friends back on Caprica. Takeshi, this is my first mate, Hayato Gokudera.”

Gokudera notes the slight hero worship in Tsuna’s eyes as he introduces the pilot, and meets Yamamoto’s smiling visage stoically.

“What do you want?” Gokudera asks gruffly, feeling a twinge of remorse as Tsuna’s excitement falters somewhat. Yamamoto doesn’t appear affected, but instead chuckles good-naturedly.

“You’re sure blunt, Mr. Gokudera. But that’s good, since I gotta get back in a couple hours anyways.”

The three of them discuss plans and schedules for the next two hours, but even though Gokudera tries his hardest to keep his mind on task, he finds his eyes drawn to the pilot. The worst is that Yamamoto keeps catching him at it, and instead of ignoring, or saying something about it, he smiles knowingly and winks. Gokudera flushes dull red, and when Tsuna abruptly asks if he’s feeling unwell, stammers a lame excuse and glares at the pilot laughing silently. He decides then he hates the moronic flyboy and doesn’t bother with a farewell as he stomps back to his very important duties.

3.

Uri the ship’s cat is more symbolic than an effective mice catcher. Not that there are many mice in space. Instead, the cat spends most of her time prowling the cafeteria, begging for scraps and a scratch behind the ears. Her temper is famous for being mercurial and potentially destructive; the _Vongola_ ’s crew takes great amusement in that despite their absolute hatred for each other, Uri and First Mate Gokudera have the same personality. And despite the numerous scratches and hisses they exchange, for some reason Uri is more often than not found sleeping at the head of First Mate Gokudera’s bed.

4.

“Well, _frak_ me. I thought those were rumors.”

“Nah, that pilot—Yamamoto? Yeah, he confirmed it. Said he’d even seen a few, being on the big ship an’ all.”

“Skinjobs. You mean t’ say we won’t even be able to tell ‘em apart from one ‘a us? That means we’re just totally _damned_.”

“They’ve got models though, twelve a them. An’ once we know how all those look, we can kill those toasters easily.”

“Yeah, an’ how many a them do we know ‘bout yet?”

“…Two?”

“Frak me. That means there're ten 'a them we got no clue ‘bout. Hell, you could be one.”

“Get atta here, I’m no toaster. But I’ll tell ya who my money’s on.”

“I can guess easy enough…”

“First mate?”

“Frak yes. Ha. That man’s a gods-damned _machine_. You know he pulls double shifts every other day?”

“Tell me ‘bout it. Even the captain’s scared witless of him.”

“But he does the job, an’ he keeps this poor girl runnin’. And he would never do anythin’ to hurt the captain.”

“All I’m sayin’ is that he can give the frakkin’ toasters a run for their money.”

5.

Under Gokudera’s stern but surprisingly patient tutelage, Tsuna is becoming a strong captain, and worthy of the crew’s loyalty. He’s earned affection and love as the kind medic and shy, sweet darling of the ship, but as the fleet continues to flee the Cylons, and the decisions become increasingly difficult to make, Tsuna has surprised all with his even-handed rule and steadfastness.

The news of Colonel Tigh’s declaration of martial law filters in while Gokudera’s on duty, and he immediately summons the captain to the bridge. Tsuna appears, sleepy-eyed but alert, and with his usual resignation settles in to call the shots. When other ships begin refusing to resupply the _Galactica_ , Gokudera looks to Tsuna silently and awaits his orders.

Tsuna, clear-eyed and quietly angry, orders a withhold on supplies to the _Galactica_ , and Gokudera notes with satisfaction that Haru immediately complies, not even bothering to second guess his decision.

6.

Gokudera refuses to speak to Yamamoto for a month, even though Yamamoto had kept his idiot jarheads in line, and had peacefully accepted Tsuna’s refusal to assist _Galactica_. The clusterfrak that had happened on the _Gideon_ enrages something deep within Gokudera, and for a long time, he can’t look at Yamamoto’s uniform without wanting to punch someone.

7.

On the _Vongola_ are five civilians: Ryohei and Kyoko Sasagawa, Lambo Bovino, I-Pin, and Chrome Dokuro. All five were headed to Virgon at the time of the Cylon attack. Only two of them are legally adults.

Within a week, Ryohei, who has taken his duties as one of less than 50,000 humans left seriously, will ship off to the _Galactica_ to start basic flight training. His kind, supportive sister Kyoko smiles and nods and laughs as her brother blubbers about making hard decisions and accepting responsibilities and a duty to protect people.

So finally, Ryohei turns away, satisfied with his justifications and by her cheery, encouraging countenance. Gokudera watches with a wry twist of his lips as the oblivious man walks away with obvious relief, while his sister sags against the dull gray hull and tries not to cry. He hates comforting of any kind, but is steeling himself to do his share, when the captain appears around the corner. Tsuna worriedly asks her what is wrong, and Kyoko flings her arms around him, quietly sobbing. With a half-smile, Gokudera slips away, leaving behind a flustered but not unhappy Tsuna. What was the saying making rounds in the fleet? The war is over; they better start having babies.

8.

He’s definitely not smiling when they throw a party the night before Ryohei leaves using their reserve foodstuffs. In the cafeteria, the whole crew is drunk on the product of Gianni’s suspect still, and the two children Lambo and I-Pin are tearing under and around everyone’s legs, cackling madly and trailing bright streamers from their hands. Even Hibari the head of security and Chrome Dokuro, the two most emotionally constipated people Gokudera have ever met, have relaxed enough to sit in, though Hibari never touches the moonshine, and his eyes are continuously tracking.

But Gokudera leans against the wall, cups his moonshine in one hand, cigarette dangling from his lips, and scowls at anyone who comes too close. Few do. If it’s one thing the _Vongola_ crew learned, it’s that Tsuna is the good cop, all smiles and reassurances and donuts. First Mate Gokudera is unquestionably the bad cop, and takes no measure to disabuse the theories that he eats babies for breakfast. He’s a little more bothered by the half-joking rumors that he’s a Cylon himself, but he’s long learned to let the insults roll off his back.

He takes a moment to check up on Tsuna, and his expression softens as he watches the young captain smile and laugh freely for the first time in months. The surge of protectiveness is unexpected, but warm, and he lets his gaze wander. From across the room, Yamamoto spots him, and makes his way through the crowd slowly but surely. Gokudera’s scowl deepens, even as his stomach tightens in… something.

Yamamoto, when he finally reaches the first mate, is grinning a slow, lazy masterpiece that is doing all sorts of damage to Gokudera’s conscious.

“Why are you even here?” Gokudera snaps, as much in annoyance as in self-defense. He wishes he was anywhere but here, away from the press of the too-loud crowd, and from the sudden, overwhelming, bewildering presence of the pilot. Why the mere sight of Yamamoto destroys his sense of orientation is not an epiphany he wants to have. Ever.

Yamamoto shrugs with a fluid roll of his shoulders and faces him, hipshot and casual. “I’m here to fly Ryohei to the _Galactica_ tomorrow, and not much is goin’ on, so the Admiral allowed me to take my night off here. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Hell no,” Gokudera spits. “Not when you’re on our ship, eating our food, and taking up our space.” Haru happens to overhear as she passes, and her glare instructs him to _‘play nice with the handsome officer!’_ He flips her off, and she comes back and stomps on his foot.

Laughing, Yamamoto steadies a cursing Gokudera with his hands. “I figure, I’ll be leaving with Ryohei tomorrow anyways, so the distribution evens out a little, don’t you think?”

The first mate glares and refuses to deign that with an answer.

“So come on, Gokudera. If it’s too loud, we can go somewhere else and chill,” Yamamoto suggests, and his hand is warm and wide on Gokudera’s shoulders.

“Your adoring fans will be devastated,” Gokudera notes dryly, and his companion chuckles as they slip out into the silent halls.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he replies cheerfully.

“By the Gods,” groans Gokudera, pinching the bridge of his nose and dropping his spent cigarette on the ground, crushing it under foot. “I’m going to go to my quarters now, and sleep off this migraine you’re giving me.”

“Why don’t you give me a tour of the ship, Mr. Gokudera?” Yamamoto asks, keeping pace with the brutal pace he sets. “I still haven’t seen all of it yet, and I want to see your favorite spot. You should visit the _Galactica_ sometime, hey have you ever been on a battlestar? Man, those things are so awesome. I bet you’d like ‘em—they have some pretty cool weapon-”

“What the hell, Lieutenant!” Gokudera snaps, and shoves Yamamoto up against the hull “Why are you following me? Can you not get it through your undoubtedly simple-minded brain that I can’t _stand_ you?! Good lords, _leave me alone_!” His shouts echo down the empty corridors, replaced by his rapid breaths. For a moment, they just stare at each other, and Gokudera realizes he still has hands fisted in Yamamoto’s pilot gear, and there is no space between them.

“Takeshi,” Yamamoto breathes quietly.

“What?” Gokudera replies, thrown. They’re so close; he can grow dizzy on the smell of Yamamoto’s gear, his sweat.

“My name. Call me Takeshi,” he instructs, his eyes intense and unblinking. “Not lieutenant, not Yamamoto, not idiot, or moron, or ball-freak. Takeshi.”

Gokudera whispers, “No.”

But Yamamoto says, “Yes,” and ends the distance between them.

9.

Growing up on Scorpia with only a dead mother and a half-sister for company is not the easiest childhood, but Gokudera dislikes dwelling on the past. He only met Bianchi at his mother’s funeral, when social services were warring with each other over who would take him. She took him to Scorpia city, made sure he finished his schooling, and cooked badly for him. Gokudera, who had lived in the near slums with his frail mother, never thought much of asking Bianchi why she went to such lengths for him, without saying a word of their mysterious father. He was simply sullenly grateful.

The two siblings lived in the city for five years, long enough for Gokudera to finish his schooling. Bianchi meanwhile taught her brother how to hold a gun, how to build simple transistor radios, and how to play chess. He in turn showed her how to play the pianoforte, how to cook, and how to love a little boy who had grown up too fast.

When he was eighteen, Bianchi sent him to the Colonial Fleet shipyard with a recommendation.

When he was twenty and sick of the military, Bianchi found him a job with the crew of the _Vongola_.

He last saw her three years ago, when he was in Scorpia to pick up engine parts, and they’d had dinner. He had promised to write more often, and she’d smiled serenely as if too polite to call his bluff.

Gokudera had never asked about the relationship between his sister and the first mate Reborn, or a million of those inconsequential little questions he had stored in his mind, and now he’ll never know.

10.

“I could have played pro-pyramid ball,” Yamamoto confesses one night, his breath brushing Gokudera’s collar bone, forehead pressed under Gokudera’s chin. “I was good at it; I actually had a couple offers when I finished school.”

“So why’d you join the fleet?” Gokudera asks, absently carding the soft black spikes of hair. He doesn’t say anything about his own disgust for the fleet.

“Even more than playing ball, I guess I wanted to fly,” Yamamoto answers with a small huff of laughter. “As it turns out, I’m really good at that, too.”

11.

On his rare night off, Tsuna, Yamamoto, and Haru gang up on him. He doesn’t realize it until Yamamoto has him strapped into the Raptor, and they’re flying off to _Cloud 9_ for some fake sunshine and real whiskey.

Although Gokudera grumbles through the whole trip, first loudly, then quietly, he is enjoying himself. The grass is soft under his bare feet, and the light, although artificial, is warming and even smells like real sunlight. After months of being too-cold in the tiny, dark _Vongola_ , _Cloud 9_ is every bit a luxury liner as it claims to be.

For once, neither of them wears uniforms. Yamamoto takes his hand, and leads him to a restaurant, with clean tables and matching silverware, and even music piped through the speakers. Gokudera orders off a menu, and revels in the pleasure of real food on his tongue.  
When they leave, Gokudera is feeling more relaxed since the Cylon attack, and even returns Yamamoto’s smile unguardedly. The pilot is dangling a room key in front of him, his smile mischievously sly, and Gokudera rolls his eyes at his antics. They hurry along the elegant halls when a woman opens her door and nearly collides with Gokudera.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry-” Her words cut off shortly, and something flashes so quickly in her eyes, that Gokudera is convinced he imagined it.

“It’s fine,” he replies slowly, and edges around both woman and door. She is bespectacled and dark blonde, green-eyed and beautiful. He can feel her eyes on him until they turn the corner.

Hours later, he wakes up from a nightmare, clutching at the soft sheets twisted around him. Yamamoto is warm at his side, snuffling softly in sleep, but Gokudera is cold; the woman with the sea green eyes lingers like a ghostly presence at his consciousness.

12.

Haru works communications, which Gokudera finds apt because the chit can talk an immortal Cylon to death, and then some in four other languages. Unlike few others on the ship, she’s absolutely not cowed by him, and so they grudgingly share meals and cigarettes, which have become an increasingly rare commodity.

There’s no balcony for them to occupy, but the airlock, unsurprisingly, is as cold and crisp a location as any outside.

“Y’know, someone’s put Tsuna up for the Leonis representative for the Quorum of 12,” Haru mentions, in between long drawn out breaths of smoke. Gokudera quirks an eyebrow; she’s been on the ship longer than him, and completely in love with the captain since before he was captain.

“Why’s that? What’s wrong with Safiya Sanne?” Gokudera asks, naming the diplomat.

“He’s repping both Leonis and Picon, and he’s getting on.” Haru shrugs and passes the cigarette back.

“Huh.” Gokudera takes a long pull. “I didn’t know Tsuna was from Leonis.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Haru pushes herself off the wall to look at him incredulously. “Tsuna Sawada? He was Timoteo’s nephew. They’re part of the Vongole clan. Tsuna’s from the Namimori branch. Timoteo’s from the main, but he never had children, and his adopted son Xanxus died on Picon. So Tsuna’s the closest left to Leonis royalty they got. How else do you think he got to go to Caprica for school?”

Of course Gokudera’s heard about the Leonis Vongole, the family that had a virtual monopoly on production and distribution of fleet weaponry. The knowledge makes his head spin. Meek little Tsuna, scion of the most famous weapons manufacturers in all Twelve Colonies.

“Frak me,” he mutters, and glares balefully as Haru snatches back the cigarette.

13.

As soon as Yamamoto’s Raptor touches down in the hangar deck, Gokudera is there, impatiently waiting for the hatch doors to open, and for the captain to stumble out, looking exhausted.

“…well?” he asks, and the whole crew hold their breath silently as Tsuna looks about him in a daze.

“…Uh,” he says informatively. But then Yamamoto appears, slinging a friendly arm around the slight man’s shoulders and shaking him gently.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot shouts, “Presenting the new representative of Leonis, Captain Tsuna Sawada!”

With a roar, the crew surge forward, full of congratulations and cheer.

“Lords of Kobol have mercy,” Gokudera laughs in rare good mood. “You did it!”

And Tsuna, grins back, jostled and flushed and looking absolutely terrified.

“I’m afraid, I’m going to be relying on you much more,” he says apologetically, but Gokudera just grins so wide he’s afraid it’ll stick, and thumps him on the back.

“You do that, Captain. You can trust me.”

14.

The elections for a new president are well under way, and temperatures are running hot on the _Vongola_. Haru patches the debates between President Roslin and Dr. Baltar through over the intercom, and the crew squabbles among themselves whether a dying woman with the blessing of the gods, or a brilliant scientist with a charmed life is worth their vote. It only gets worse with the discovery of New Caprica, and what it could mean for the fleet.

“We need to find Earth,” Gokudera hears, countered with, “But we need a rest. This is a compromise.”

Tsuna is tight-lipped with stress these days. Gokudera brings him meals in his quarters as the captain pores over documents and dossiers, constituent information, in addition to ship reports.

“New Caprica isn’t a solution, by any means,” Tsuna confides in his first mate over a tumbler of watery scotch. “President Roslin is right. We have to keep moving. We can’t stake the rest of our lives on a compromise. But people are sick of living in ships and on the run. They want stability, and air, and not living with five other people in their quarters.”

“Whatever happens,” Gokudera says, “we’ll make it work, like we always have.”

Tsuna smiles wearily and toasts him. “It’s rare you’re so optimistic. So say we all.”

Gokudera himself isn’t going to vote; he hates politics, and he’s sleeping badly to boot. There’s an uneasy feeling in him, that either way, the Cylons will find them. They’ll never be safe, until the entire race of toasters is gone.

Three more Cylon faces have been identified in the past weeks. One of them, the blonde, beautiful one they call Six is uncomfortably familiar.

15.

Hibari scares him, though Gokudera will never admit it. More than that, he infuriates him. Still, when the head of security motions for a talk, Gokudera bangs the troublesome FTL drive lightly, hands off his tools to Spanner, signs off on the forms Irie present to him, and follows the man into an empty room.

“Yes, Mr. Hibari, what is it?” Gokudera demands as he strips off his gloves.

“There’s a Cylon on board.”

Gokudera freezes. For a moment, he doesn’t think he can breathe, but Hibari is watching his every move like a hawk. He forces himself to look him in the eye.

“That’s a serious accusation, Mr. Hibari,” he says slowly. “Do you have any reason to believe so?”

“You were fixing the FTL drive when I summoned you,” Hibari begins, quiet but not any less threatening. “This is how many times you’ve had to fix it this month?”

“Four, but I don’t-” Gokudera stops abruptly, and stares at him. “…You think someone’s sabotaging the FTL drive, so we won’t be able to jump. You think a _Cylon_ is doing this?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Gokudera. You are the mechanical expert. You tell me,” Hibari replies silkily.

16.

Yamamoto listens silently as Gokudera recounts his conversation with Hibari, idly scratching Uri’s head. They’re lying in bed, and Gokudera has slept better than he had in weeks with Yamamoto beside him. The result is he’s particularly chatty for himself tonight.

“Do you think it’s true then?” Yamamoto asks. He’s here to ferry the final votes back to the Galactica in the morning. “Is it normal for the FTL drives to malfunction like they do?”

“I don’t know,” Gokudera sighs. “I would say yes, except that these engines are almost fifteen years old. We were going to switch them out when we reached Scorpia, except we never got there. So, honestly, who knows? Hibari is a paranoid frakker, but now, with tensions running so high, it’d be stupid to ignore him.”

“I’ve met all your crew,” Yamamoto points out. “I know the known Cylon faces by heart. No one in your crew matches the descriptions.”

“That just means there’s seven more we don’t know about,” Gokudera points out, stroking Uri’s tummy. The cat, blissed out and oblivious, purred loudly in the quiet room.

“Does Tsuna know yet?”

Gokudera nods. “Hibari talked to him already. He doesn’t want to believe it, but he has to. We’ve got to figure out who before it’s too late.”

They’re silent after that, Gokudera lost in his brooding, and Yamamoto watching quietly. He tugged affectionately on Gokudera’s silver hair, smiling when the bright green eyes focused sharply on him.

“You’re something else,” Yamamoto chuckles, and Gokudera’s heart clenches up powerfully. He pulls himself over the pilot’s long, lean body and kisses him slow and sure.

“I love you,” he whispers into Yamamoto’s skin, and presses his lips to the curve of his shoulder. At least, he knows himself not to be a Cylon. Machines couldn’t feel what does, this overwhelming, almost crippling mix of warmth and pain that seizes his whole being when he sees Yamamoto. This love, he decides, is what makes him human, absolutely.

17.

The next morning, Gokudera kisses Yamamoto in his quarters, then sees the pilot out the door. When he turns back to his desk, there’s a gun that the officer has left by accident. Gokudera checks the safety, and hefts it in his hand, then goes to the bridge, where Yamamoto and Tsuna will be meeting briefly before the pilot returns to Galactica.

The crew greets him as he passes them in the halls, and Haru joins him on the walk to the bridge. Chrome, one of the civilian passengers, briefly requests his help with a faulty heating system in her quarters later, and he agrees absently.

On the bridge, Yamamoto catches sight of him, his smile lighting up his face. Gokudera suppresses the urge to grin idiotically, and instead waggles the gun in his hand with a dry, upraised eyebrow. The pilot laughs, and scratches his head in mild embarrassment.

“Gokudera, good morning,” Tsuna greets. He looks tired, but energized. Today is election day.

“Good morning, Captain,” Gokudera replies warmly, then calmly flicks off the safety, raises the gun, and shoots him.

18.

_In the next moment, Gokudera understands everything._

19.

Time has slowed to a crawl. He sees Haru scream, mouth wide in horror. Hibari lunges for him, already in movement. He sees Yamamoto stare in bewilderment, his eyes having gone a sharp shocked amber.

Tsuna, his captain, jolts backward, face twisted in pain. Blood is staining his jacket and his hands. Gokudera doesn’t know if he’ll live.

Inside, his stomach has turned into a solid, sour mass and the knowledge of what he’s done—of what he _is_ reviles him.

 _But, I love,_ he thinks in despair.

Hibari is within reaching distance.

And Yamamoto... Takeshi is... 

Gokudera lines the muzzle of the gun against his head and squeezes the trigger.

20.

He wakes up gasping and clawing at the thick viscosity surrounding him. Hands reach him, soothing, but the pain is still there, the agony of dying and rebirth. His head rings with pressure and sharp, jabbing sensations, but he is breathing _he is breathing_.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be alright.” The voices make Gokudera jerk, wild-eyed. Faces loom over him, dispassionate. And then, the face of Bianchi ( _Three_ , his new awareness supplies), swims into focus, expression solemn.

“We are so proud of you, little brother. Welcome home.”

“You have done very well,” another voice says, and Gokudera see himself, another model with dark hair and a solemn expression leaning over him.

“No,” Gokudera whimpers. “No. No, no no nonono _nonono_ ”

“Shh,” a Six soothes, her familiar green eyes faintly worried.

When Gokudera opens his mouth to scream, he can’t remember how to stop.

 


End file.
